


when i held him in my arms (his feet never touched the ground)

by orphan_account



Series: Lost a Bet [1]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Extramarital Affairs, Historical Inaccuracy, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Non-Sexual Kink, Self-Worth Issues, fluff kinda
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-28
Updated: 2017-02-28
Packaged: 2018-09-27 11:41:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10018955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: He holds Laurens tightly to him at night, almost enough to leave bruising.He's afraid of caring, too much and too little.Alex needs John and cherishes him, more than any other.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RoseSorrows](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoseSorrows/gifts).



> Note 5/6/18: orphaning this because neither I nor the person I wrote this for are comfortable with Hamilton anymore
> 
> Title from Heavy in your Arms by Florence + the Machine; very much inspired by [the Camaraderie series](http://archiveofourown.org/series/377776) by [duckbunny](http://archiveofourown.org/users/duckbunny/) and the characterizations in [Non-Stop](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5626945) by [writelikeitsgoingoutofstyle](http://archiveofourown.org/users/twoandahalfslytherins/pseuds/writelikeitsgoingoutofstyle).
> 
> Warnings for very light mention of child abuse and some (relatively canon-accurate) infidelity, and some self-destructive behavior. The furthest any kink content goes is bruising. 
> 
> Written for RoseSorrows, who requested a Hamilton/Laurens fic of 300 + 50 words (or more).

Alex worries about Laurens whenever he’s away. 

“I can take care of myself, you know,” John always says, laughing, but Alex frets nonetheless. 

John acts like danger can never touch him, like he knows he’ll dodge every threat that comes near him. Alex can’t understand that; he’s faced death over and over since childhood, and everything he does is simply outpacing it for a little while longer. 

John laughs when he gets in fights, looks determinedly proud when he goes off to battle, is always by Alex’s side to encourage and calm him down. 

Every time John leaves Alex’s line of sight, fear roils up inside of him because how could Alexander Hamilton, bastard child with nothing to his name, deserve anyone so incredible? 

“I don’t know if I want the war to end,” Alex dreams of whispering into John’s ear. He doesn’t want to lose this, doesn’t want to stop when he knows it will all come to an end eventually. 

When John comes back from battle (or a trip for Washington, or anything else that might take him away from Alex for even just a minute) he will either slump into Alex’s arms or tremble tightly with suppressed emotion, suppressed desire for a fight that he will not win. 

Alex will hold him as close as he can once they are away from the others, clench his shoulders tight enough that the frantic light in John’s eyes will fade and be replaced by utter trust (trust Alex craves yet feels guilty for, as he knows he does not deserve this and possibly never will). 

Sometimes it feels like there was never anything before the war. Everything that has happened before or will happen after seems to exist in a different dimension from here, these men and this role and all the marching they do. 

John has nightmares of his father, of innocents hurt and of being hurt himself, more than even he can take. Alex holds him down those nights, until John’s breath slows and his wide-wide eyes slip closed. 

“I love you,” Alex wants to tell John, hold him close and whisper over and over, grasp him tight enough to bruise so others will see his markings and know that John is loved and cherished and that there is someone who will protect him no matter what, even from himself. 

Alex knows he will never love anyone like he loves John, can hardly trust himself to touch him lest he turn to mist in Alex’s arms. 

When John is away, Alex makes excuses to start fights, lets Washington warn him to stop lest he get himself hurt, then goes back out to fight some more. Every blow he lands feels like both a triumph and a betrayal. 

_You have a son,_ Eliza writes, and Alex wants to crumple the paper in his hands. Instead he hides it away, lets himself make excuses because Laurens feels real, at night and in his arms. 

At times Alex wants to scream, wants to start fights just for the sake of the rightness that comes, wants to pour the words in his mind out without being dismissed as naive, and Laurens is the one who stops him, who reassures and comforts him and will take risks just to hold him a touch longer than necessary. 

“I love you,” Alex says, when Washington finally dismisses him from the battlefield, and John is in his arms for what he’s terrified is the last time. 

John laughs, and pulls him just a bit closer. “You think I didn’t already know that?” he whisper-laughs. “It’s so obvious. You look at me like I’m your world.” 

And then he leans in, his lips next to Alex’s ear, and whispers, “I love you too, Alexander Hamilton.”

He kisses Alex lightly, and the whole time they put on a show as friends bidding each other goodbye and Alex travels back to his wife and child his chest aches with warmth and brightness.


End file.
